


Everything will be Okay

by Al_Blue



Category: Real Person Fiction, Tennis RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Everyone's Single, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_Blue/pseuds/Al_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To quote Scully, "You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with."</p><p>Or, the one with Andy asking Novak to go to the Champion's Dinner with him. Except with a lot of feelings.</p><p>Update: Now followed up with happy ending (more or less) in Ch. 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author does not own anything, only perverted imaginations.  
> Author regrets everything, and may all the gods help that neither of these boys ever find out about this.

\------

The crowd erupts into pure noise when Novak’s backhand hits the net.

Andy lets go of his racquet and lets out a roar; elation, frustration, and exhaustion rush out of him.

He pumps his fist at mum before seeing Novak walking up to the net out of the corner of his eye.

Andy turns, and runs to him, momentarily unsure whether Novak will welcome a hug.

But Novak smiles, blindingly with the corners of his eyes wrinkling in joy.

Congratulations, his lips read, sound drawn out by the din.

Andy slows his steps for a beat before stepping into Novak’s personal space to put his arms around the other man, and pulls him into an embrace.

“Thank you.” Andy whispers in Novak’s ear, making him laugh.

“It’s all you today; it’s not like I’d just let you win.” Novak whispers back, and wraps his arms tighter around Andy quickly, before stepping back and out of Andy’s arms.

He nudges Andy back into the court, the smile doesn’t leave his eyes, “Your court awaits.”

\------

Andy gets dressed for the Championship dinner in Novak’s hotel room, because Novak has the better bathroom, not really bigger or brighter than Andy’s own, but better nonetheless.

“Please,” Andy wheedles, struggling with the invisible buttons on his dress shirt, “I can’t face schmoozing these _organizers_ by myself. And you are invited anyway.”

“The runner ups never go to the dinner, you know this.” Novak pops a grape in his mouth, and flicks the telly to the Food Network, “Last year you got drunk in your hotel room and cried to me on the phone.”

“I did not cry on the phone.” Andy glares at Novak’s reflection in the bathroom mirror when the other man comes to lean against the door frame.

“Are we going to pretend I didn’t call your mum to check up on you to make sure you didn’t fall asleep choking on your own vomit?”

Andy turns to hurl a tiny shampoo bottle at the offending presence; Novak catches it amidst peals of laughter.

\------

It’s okay now, enough time has passed that they can joke about this same night from last year.

After losing yet again to Roger, this time on his home turf, Andy had decided to drink.

He called Novak because he missed him, but ended up confessing, half coherently, how exhausted he was, tired of the expectations, the pressure, and the failures; tired of the training, and the excruciating matches that left him emotionally and physically drained.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Andy whispered.

Novak didn’t yell at him. He held the phone close and told Andy how good he is, that Novak knew from the first match they played as juniors; how impressed he is with everything Andy had done; how it is enough, that when they look back, this will be nothing but a bad memory, just another bump in the road.

Novak ploughed on, “I want to see you at the US Open finals later. I know you have what it takes to win it this time.”

“Do you?” Andy had laughed bitterly, “Fifth time is the charm?”

“I’ve been doing this for 15 years, too, you know. I think my opinion counts for something.”

“I don’t need your pity, Nole.”

“No, it’s not pity because it’ll be your fight, Andy. If you want to take a title, you have to beat all of us fair and square.” Novak whispered hotly through the tiny earpiece, “But I’m in your corner, always.”

Andy has always had a soft spot for Novak.

Sure, he was jealous of Novak’s talent and how quickly he climbed the rankings, he still is, if he is being honest, but he never resented Novak for his talents and all the hard work he put into his game.

So when Jamie joked about Novak’s ball bouncing, Andy had been irritated.

If he didn’t have such a good serve that you tossers can’t return, Andy told him, no one would complain about his ball bouncing.

And when others questioned Novak’s early retirements, Andy seethed, he’d like to see those arseholes suffer chest pain and go on to win five setters.

In hindsight, maybe he defended Novak too much that after his break with Kim, mum asked him, one day, almost tentatively, whether there was anything more than friendship between Novak and him.

She understands, she said, and she wants him to be happy.

Andy blinked and gaped at her, and thought that was odd.

Except it wasn’t.

It would be a bad idea, Jamie told Andy after his Aussie loss, the two of you are shaping up to become the next big rivalry in tennis; it’s bad enough that everyone knows you are friendly.

Although, Jamie admits, after Kim it’s hard to imagine anyone else putting up with your personality.

He received a well-deserved shove in the backwards direction for that.

“I mean, you are grating at the best of times.” Jamie said, “Except Novak seems to be one of the few who finds it charming”.

 ------

“I can’t get this.” Andy turns back to the mirror, gestures with a sigh at the bowtie that refuses to straighten, “Maybe I should just wear a tie.”

“Just re-tie it.” Novak come up behind him and snakes his hands around to untie the offending article at Andy’s throat.

Andy shivers, hyper aware of their closeness.

Novak is dressed simply in a white t-shirt and shorts. He recently showered, Andy notices, and smells like soap and warm skin.

Andy wants to turn around and put his arms around Novak again, to feel his body heat through the soft cotton.

He wonders if Jamie is right, if Novak really does find him attractive.

“Come as my date, then.” Andy says, quieter than he hoped, to Novak’s reflection as he finishes re-tying his tie.

Novak doesn’t look up; he tugs on the bowtie one last time before taking his hands off and sliding them down Andy’s back.

Andy feels the skin on his back prickle as Novak’s hands skim over his shirt; he turns to face the other man, catching Novak’s hands before they leave his person.

“Nole -”

“And that makes me the luckiest girl in this whole country, doesn’t it?” Novak chuckles, eyes following their clasped hands.

Andy puts one of the Novak’s hands on his own chest, slides the free arm around the other man’s waist, and jokes in an American accent, “- and the most badass.”

Novak laughs and looks up into Andy’s eyes searchingly.

“You look very handsome.” His whisper resonates warmly between the two of them; Andy has never wanted to kiss him more.

“So do you.”

But instead of leaning in, Novak steps back and looks away again, “You should call Kim.”

“Why? She isn’t – she isn’t my girlfriend.”

“And neither am I.” Novak replies cryptically, looking anywhere but at Andy.

“Nole?” Andy asks, “Look I’m sorry, I’m – if I got it wrong, then I’m sorry. I really am.”

He rambles and reaches out for Novak’s hands, “Nole.”

Andy’s heart breaks when downcast eyes look back up at him again, shining with unshed tears.

He envelops the other man in a hug.

Momentarily Andy marvels at how much he misses this, the feeling of Novak pressed against him, even though they have embraced quite a few times during the day already.

Novak returns the hug instinctively, arms solid and familiar around Andy’s body.

He drops his head down to rest on Andy’s shoulder, when he speaks his voice is muffled, “Andy - we can’t -”

Oh.

No, Andy supposes, Jamie _was_ right, they can’t, for the sake for both of their careers, and for Nole’s family’s expectations.

“No -” Andy echoes and turns his head to kiss Novak’s temple, as soothingly as he can master, “I know. It’s okay -”

Novak shakes and laughs mirthlessly in his arms.

“It’s going to be okay.” Andy holds on tighter as he feels the wetness of tears seeping through his shirt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In-the-future AU, a continuation of their conversations from Chapter 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let there be a kiss.
> 
> Or, The Future!Chapter, _Present_ is August 2013 at the Rogers Cup in Montréal, Canada.

_\------_

_Present, Montréal_

In an otherwise unoccupied corner, on the upper level of the centre court at Uniprix Stadium, Novak watches as Andy screams into his racquet.

He’s already down a set and a break, trailing an 18 years old unknown Canadian in this second round match.

The teenager is good; they always are at this age, fearless, especially when playing at home. But Andy is already talking to himself and hitting his trainers with his fist in frustration.

Novak wants to go and sit in Andy’s box where Ivan is, to cheer him on.

But they haven’t spoke since that night after Wimbledon, so he tugs his cap to block out the shifting morning sun, and watches as Andy hits a second vicious forehand in a row beyond the baseline.

\------

“For fuck’s sake Jamie -” Novak hears Andy through the door before he rips it open in front of Novak, “- for the last fucking time -”

Andy is barely dressed, just a towel around his hips and a smaller one in his hand, his hair wet and sticking up all over.

“Hi.” Novak waves, but stops when he realises he must looks stupid.

Andy breathes out slowly and leans on the door for a moment before stepping back, “Come in.”

His hotel room is a mess of tennis gear.

One travel suitcase is open on the floor, half packed.

“Sorry about the – um, mess.” Andy gestures, apologizes out of habit, and turns to open the minibar “Can I get ya anything to drink? Water? Guess you can’t have a real drink with your match later -”

“I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Andy picks out a small bottle of scotch, and twists open the cap.

“You are leaving.” Novak gestures at the suitcase.

Andy takes a swig and crosses his arms, “I got Cincy to prepare, no reason to stick around in this shit place.”

“Right.” Novak acknowledges.

It’s obvious that the other man is angry, and Novak can’t be certain whether his company is at all welcomed.

He steps closer anyway, “I saw your match – I’m worried – How are you, Andy?”

\------

There was a time when maintaining a lack of personal space between them was easy; a time when Novak didn’t analyse about being close to Andy.

He remembers playing doubles in Miami; it was like that they were just kids again, two boys in a foreign country, living out of each other’s pockets.

He remembers a night at a club. While clubbing is not necessarily rare for either of them growing up on the tour, Andy always hated it, and Novak prided himself on being able to drag Andy out to parties.

They sat at a table tucked into a corner, and sipped on their beers.

Andy drew everyone’s eyes whenever he’s in America, maybe it’s his accent, maybe it’s the way he walked and held himself, or maybe, Novak thought with a smile, that night it was the subtle grey striped shirt he insisted Andy wears, with a waistcoat and definitely no jacket.

Two women came to sit with them. They flirted tactlessly, both flirting with the both of them.

When they finally decided to visit the restroom together, Andy took his hand and pulled him away from the table.

“Dance with me.” He said.

“What?”

“Well, unless you are going to take one of them back later?” Andy asked.

“I’m not looking.”

Andy stopped them at the edge of the dance floor and pondered on Novak’s answer, “You never are.”

Not liking where the thread of conversation was going, Novak took a half-hearted dig, “Well, unlike some - I’m a professional athlete, I have no time.”

Andy did not rise to the bait; he simply raised an eyebrow and pulled Novak closer, “Exactly what does professional athlete not have time for? Relationships? Or one night stands?”

They started to dance, but just barely, slowly pivoting in a loose hug in the vicinity of the dance floor, to Rihanna chanting her ode to sadomasochism.

Novak slid his arms around Andy’s shoulders, and pointedly ignored Andy’s question, “I hope this is not how you usually dance in clubs.”

“You are not impressed?” Andy asked in his ear.

Of course Novak wasn’t impressed; he has had lap dances by professionals on nearly all the continents.

Yet, he shivered, and felt his skin burn where Andy’s hands rested; one on his mid back, guiding him, so they moved in unison, and the other held, almost indecently, on his hip, just over his belt.

“Maybe I am.” Novak admitted into Andy’s neck, “But I’m just really easy.”

Andy’s laughter rumbled through them both as he tugged them even closer together.

Novak sailed through that tournament, encouraged by the glimpses of Andy in the audience when he played his matches.

A week after winning at Miami, Novak returned to Monte Carlo to prepare for the clay season.

On a clear Wednesday, Marián sat down beside him on the practice courts and showed him a photo on his phone.

“I made some calls the day after this was taken. It’s gone from the club’s website.” He said, and handed Novak the phone, “It is lucky no one recognized you.”

It was a photo of Andy and him, dancing.

Andy’s face is visible in the photo; he was smiling, a rare sight in those days.

“My only concern is your game.” Marián said, “But I need to know, when there...may be something, that may affect your performance.”

The pauses in Marián’s speech was clear enough that Novak felt heat rushing up his face, and he stuttered, “we – it’s not – Andy and I are just friends. This isn’t –”

Marián took the phone out of Novak’s hand and deleted the photo.

Then he turned, and regarded Novak consideringly.

“I didn’t think you are anything but friends, Novak.” Marián commented quietly.

Novak stilled, and listened to the loud thumps of his heart, it beat fast as if ticking down to something.

“There are certain things,” Marián said almost conversationally, “that one may choose to indulge in, in an easy life.”

Novak breathed, and stared resolutely straight ahead.

“Many believe you can take the number one spot by Wimbledon if you continue to do well.” Marián continued, “You know better than I how many are counting on you to do that.”

He patted Novak’s knee as a father would and got up, “Think about it.”

\------

_Present, Montréal_

“I think about what this is all for –” Andy lets out a sign at Novak’s question. He doesn’t lash out, just takes another swallow of his drink and looks at Novak, “- whether or not anything is really worth anything in the end.”

Novak looks away under the gaze.

He doesn’t know what Andy wants him to say, “Your – um, your country is proud of you.”

“I don’t do this for my country –” Andy uncrosses his arms and takes a step towards Novak, “My country, is full of people I don’t care about and most of them are very unlikely to give a shit about me either – but is that why _you_ do this, for your country?”

Novak shakes his head.

“For your parents, then?” Andy guesses again, harshly.

His chest rises and falls visibly inches away from Novak, who bristles at the mention of his parents, “No, I don’t – not in the way you think anyway.”

“And what do I think?”

Novak frowns, wondering whether or not Andy cares about what he has to say.

“We do this –” Novak answers softly, “– play on the tour, travel the world like we are rock stars – but this isn’t the real world, Andy. We are equal here, but we chose this life for very different reasons.”

“If you didn’t play tennis,” Novak reaches out a hand to take the scotch away from the other man, and puts it down, “you would still have a nice, maybe quiet life back home, with your parents and...maybe someone special. I grew up hearing and watching reports on how many people, sometimes neighbours and people we know, have been injured or died in the latest attack or protest.”

“Novak -”

“People say it’s funny that I learned to play tennis in an abandoned swimming pool.” Novak chuckles, humourless, “But what they don’t say is that, it was because we couldn’t afford to put water in pool –or to build an actual tennis court for the children.”

“So – so, do you see?” Novak clutches his fists and searches Andy’s eyes, “I can’t live pretending I have nothing to lose, because I do, so much – my family, my loved ones, they are safe, and well; my brothers have a future – because of this life I’ve chosen.”

He blinks, and tears spill from his eyes, “I’m not like you, Andy.”

Andy stills at Novak’s words, “I’m sorry.” 

He moves in to pull the other man to him and holds on, “I’m sorry.” He whispers, not certain what he’s apologizing for.

Novak leans into the dearly missed embrace and forces himself to breathe. “I’m sorry, too.” He whispers and makes to draw away.

“Nole –” Andy holds on, “Wait. Wait – I – I want you to know that you are not alone.”

Novak makes a noise, half way between a gasp and laugh.

“No. No – Listen. When I say I want you,” Andy says, eyes steady, “I meant it, all of you, everything.”

“The ‘rock star’," Andy continues, eyes tracking Novak’s every move, "And everything else you carry with you.”

Novak blinks slowly as Andy brings one of their clasped hands up to his lips, and kisses his palm, “I don’t think you know what you are getting into.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I know you –” Andy pulls him close again, “– for 15 years, I think I deserve a chance to try, to understand.”

Novak laughs, because this is not the answer, “You shouldn’t –”

“If it isn’t obvious, I haven’t slept well since Wimbledon, because - I, I missed you, I missed hearing your voice, and it guts me to think I couldn’t see you or speak to you.” Andy pauses, as if in fear that he said too much, but he swallows and continues anyway, “I don’t think I can quite say – just how important you are, to me. So – so, let me be there for you. Please.”

Novak reaches out to touch Andy’s face, longing for more contact, mesmerized by Andy’s eyes and the defined lines of his jaws, “I’m insecure and competitive, and over-protective of my family.”

Andy laughs, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Then he leans in, slowly, and presses his lips against Novak’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Just realized the this chapter started with Andy in nothing but a towel, and this was not taken advantage of. Damn.


End file.
